


Of Cookies and Cats and Quarantine

by vina_writes



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Muggle, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Animal Crossing: New Horizons, Baking, Cinnamon Roll Draco Malfoy, Dorks, First Dates, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Getting Together, Honestly A Bit Silly, Humor, I think?, M/M, Meet-Cute, Pandemics, Quarantine, im sorry i had to, not socially distanced, that game is my life now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:54:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25063474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vina_writes/pseuds/vina_writes
Summary: How does one survive quarantine? By obsessing over one's cute neighbor, of course."They regard one another for a couple seconds, coming to the same quick decision. Harry takes the few steps separating them, and now Draco can smell the tang of sweat and aftershave, and he has to consciously stop himself from licking his lips. Harry takes another step, closer than strictly necessary for cat transferral, but this offers Draco the chance to see that his eyes are actually brilliant green and not the blue he’d once thought. They’re framed by thick, dark lashes under wire-rimmed glasses."
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 19
Kudos: 243





	Of Cookies and Cats and Quarantine

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant to be posted two months ago but I never wrote the middle so here we are. It's fresh out of the oven, sweet and cute and I think funny? My sense of humor is terrible so don't take my word for it. Acnh is a gem, so of course it had to be in here :)

Harry trips on his way out the door, as usual, and his phone slips out of his grip and smacks face-first on the floor. He spends the obligatory silent minute praying to whatever gods exist before bending down to check it. The screen is intact, and he breathes a sigh of relief before his little bottle of sanitizer falls, followed by his keys, headphones, and three canvas grocery bags. He curses and squats down to start fumbling around for everything. Lovely. 

“Are you doing alright?” A smooth voice sounds from somewhere behind him. 

“Yeah, fine, thanks,” Harry calls over his shoulder as he shoves everything away in one bag and manages to stand. “You know how—” and oh _shit_ , it’s his neighbor, the hot one across the hall whose name he’s never gotten because Harry’s mouth turns to cotton every time he sees him “—it goes. Yeah, er, just clumsy.”

“Oh,” Hot Neighbor says helpfully. It’s the first time Harry’s heard him speak, and his accent is just as refined and gorgeous as the rest of him. From the way he’s leaning out of his door, Harry can only see his top half, but he’s wearing the softest looking sky-blue jumper and his eyes are absolutely striking in it. Hot Neighbor’s mouth is quirked in a confused sort of twist. It’s only then Harry realizes he’s said something else. 

“I’m sorry?” He blurts out. 

The man’s lips shift around into something resembling amusement, but Harry’s having trouble not staring at them, which in turn makes reading his expression difficult. “Are you going out to brave the masses?” He repeats. 

“Oh, yeah. Yeah, I’ve run out of just about everything. You’ve got to get the shopping done at some point, right?” Harry’s not sure why he’s trying to justify his venture out into London. They aren’t on lockdown yet. He’s got every right to be gallivanting across the city if he so chooses (except for the fact that he’s not stupid). 

“Christ, I’ve tried,” the bloke’s eyes go wide. “Sainsbury’s was completely cleared out. Have you been lately?”

“No, er, this is my first time out in like two weeks, to be honest.” Harry’s thrilled with the conversation, truly, but that news does get him a bit worried. 

“Oh. Well you’re going in the middle of the day, it should hopefully be restocked.”

“Right.” 

They stand there in silence that is most definitely getting more awkward by the minute, Harry with his bags and his mask hanging off one ear, and Hot Neighbor with his fingers tucked into his long sleeves as he fidgets uncomfortably. 

“Well, I’ll be—”

“Would you mind—”

They both stop. 

“I’m sorry, go ahead.” Harry nods at him in a way he hopes is friendly and not angry and/or belying the intense appreciation he has for the way the bloke’s hair falls in soft blond whisps into his grey eyes. 

“I hope I’m not asking too much, but would you be able to grab cat food if they have it? I just hate to keep going out to check but I’m running really low.”

“Oh, no problem,” Harry says quickly before he can even consider where he’s supposed to get cat food. “Is there a particular brand or anything…?”

“I can send you a picture, if that’s alright. It’s about ten quid.”

“Yeah, yeah sure.” Harry scoops around in his bag for his phone. “Let me just give you my number.” He stops. His cheeks feel unnaturally hot and he just knows he’s blushing, dammit. How smooth. 

But Hot Neighbor is already holding his own phone with an expectant face, and doesn’t seem to be aware of the jumble of embarrassment that is currently Harry Potter, so he lists off his number with only the slightest stumble. 

“What’s your name?” The question is light, easy.

“Harry. Harry Potter.”

“I’m Draco Malfoy.”

“Good to meet you.”

“You too. I’ll shoot you a text in a bit. Thank you so much, you’re a lifesaver honestly.” Harry would beg to differ, but Draco’s smile is just far too radiant for argument, so he mumbles something about the bus and hurries down the hall. 

He makes it four blocks before he realizes he hasn’t locked his door, there’s no bus needed, and the turn to Sainsbury’s was two blocks back. 

* * *

It’s three days since the cat food fiasco before Draco sees Harry again. He laments the fact that it’s taken a goddamn pandemic for him to get up the nerve to actually talk to the sex-haired Adonis living right across the fucking hall, but he thinks he’s made up for it somewhat by getting not only a whole five minutes of conversation (suck it, Blaise) but an actual phone number and a name out of it. Granted, there’s not a lot to text about, but it’s considerable progress. The high of it lasts him a good two days before he begins plotting excuses to be out in the hall again. 

He can at least say that the chances of seeing Harry have upped his personal hygiene considerably. Contrary to what he’s led Pansy to believe, he has indeed been wearing his pajamas almost exclusively for two weeks. Definitely not the elegant apocalyptic outfit he’d always planned, but needs must. 

At the moment, Draco is opening his door after getting his mail downstairs, so he doesn’t think to glance behind him until a cheerful voice calls—

“Draco! Hi!”

It’s Harry of course, but it’s Harry in shorts. It’s Harry in a T-shirt that has no right being that tight, Harry with a sheen of sweat over his face and dampening his hair and flat stomach. Harry looking flushed and out of breath and like he’s just run halfway around the park. Draco gulps and drops half his mail. 

“Hello,” he nods back before bending down to get it in as dignified a manner as possible. As he does, however, he forgets the open door behind him and a lump of tufted fur flies between his legs and out into the hall. Draco drops all his envelopes (again) and promptly dives after his demon of a cat, but Pea is already out of his reach. His gut swoops in panic right as Harry leans down and scoops the monster up before it manages to dodge past him and towards the stairwell. 

“Wow, you’re a handful,” he blurts as soon as he hefts Pea up against his chest. Draco flushes. The vet insists Pea is healthy, but he weighs about 10 kilos and knows it. “What’s your name?”

“Pea,” Draco blurts from his position on the floor. He quickly gathers the papers around him and shoves them out of sight into his apartment before standing.

“Pea for… Poppy? Penelope?”

“...Pumpkin,” Draco mumbles, utterly mortified. Harry chokes on a surprised laugh. He looks delighted by the name, and Draco isn’t even surprised. Of course Draco likes a guy who thinks Pumpkin is a suitable name for a cat. 

“How shall I return Pumpkin to you?” Harry asks. “Can I set him down, or…?”

“He’ll run away.” Draco chews his lip, wondering why Harry doesn’t just hand Pea to him before he remembers they are indeed in the midst of a pandemic. “Right, six feet apart.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, you’ve already smothered my cat, I suppose. I mean we could just…”

“If it makes you feel better, I haven’t been anywhere but the store and a few runs for three weeks.”

“Me too.” Minus the running. 

They regard one another for a couple seconds, coming to the same quick decision. Harry takes the few steps separating them, and now Draco can smell the tang of sweat and aftershave, and he has to consciously stop himself from licking his lips. Harry takes another step, closer than strictly necessary for cat transferral, but this offers Draco the chance to see that his eyes are actually brilliant green and not the blue he’d once thought. They’re framed by thick, dark lashes under wire-rimmed glasses. 

“He seems to like me,” Harry comments. Draco almost asks who before he looks down and sees that Pea has his claws stuck in Harry’s shirt. Draco moves to peel his paws off with a sigh and a muttered apology that dies quite quickly. He can feel the heat of Harry’s damp skin through his shirt this way, feel the hard plains of his chest against his knuckles. Their arms brush and press as Harry finally hands the cat back to him, and at that point Draco knows his face is flaming. 

“Thank you,” he manages.

“Of course,” Harry smiles and turns back to his apartment, giving Draco and Pea a little wave as he goes. He hesitates briefly at the door. “Hey, I don’t know about you, but I’m kind of ridiculously bored right now. What have you been up to for three weeks?”

“I’ve been baking,” Draco says without thinking. Harry looks intrigued, however, so he plows on. “I made 48 cookies yesterday, actually.” Harry laughs. “No, really. I mean, I’ve been watching quite a bit of Netflix too.”

“Can you recommend anything good? I’ve rewatched all my usual stuff far too many times.”

“Um,” Draco hefts Pea up a little higher as he thinks. “There’s the Mandalorian? You’ve probably seen it though.” Christ, Draco, way to go. From the looks of Harry he’d probably never even seen Star Wars. Not to mention everyone on the planet has already seen the Mandalorian. 

But Harry looks absolutely thrilled. He’s grinning and bouncing on the tips of his toes now. “Is that the new Star Wars one? I haven’t seen it yet, is it any good? Where can you watch it?”

“Er, it’s on Disney, I think,” Draco says carefully. _It’s on my TV, in my apartment,_ he thinks to himself. “I loved it.”

“Shit,” Harry’s face falls briefly. “I don’t have Disney.”

“I can share my login with you.” He doesn’t mind at all, really, even though he barely knows Harry and that just goes to show how weak Draco is for that mussed up hair. 

“I’d feel bad,” Harry shakes his head. “It’d be weird if you weren’t watching it too, you know? I’d hate to mooch off you like that.”

“Well, you did buy me cat food,” Draco jokes. Tries to. “It’ll make us even—” but then he really thinks about what Harry said, and it couldn’t have been unintentional, it absolutely couldn’t have, not with the way Harry’s looking so crestfallen at his refusal. The wild, plague-ridden universe is finally blessing him, and Draco’s not going to fuck it up. Hopefully. “Or. Or instead— we can watch it together?”

“That’s great,” Harry grins. “I mean, that’s a great idea. Quarantine slumber party?” Draco can’t help the laugh that snorts out of him. “Come over around six?”

“Alright.” Six is great, six is perfect. Harry waves with a smile and finally closes his door. Draco’s heart is beating a mile a minute and he thinks he may just throw up on Pea, but he hasn’t been this excited in weeks. This is definitely the opposite of social distancing but at this point they’ve shared all their germs over Pea and he really doesn’t give a fuck. 

Not a second later his phone dings. 

_Bring those cookies. And Pea._

* * *

Harry gets a text from Draco around five thirty. He thoroughly denies that he’s spent the last two hours frantically stress-cleaning his entire flat and being eaten alive by nerves, but the notification does make him drop his phone once again. 

It’s a meme. Draco’s sent him a meme. 

_Time Traveler: What year is it?_

_Me: It’s 2020._

_Time Traveler: Oh. The first year of quarantine._

_Me: The WHAT._

Harry snorts, then laughs before he can help it. He likes Draco’s message and that should be that, but this feels ridiculous. Draco’s right across the hall, two walls over, and it’s already half past five. Harry manages ten seconds of bad decision making before he caves. 

_Get your cat-loving arse over here._

He worries for a second about sounding too pushy, then he worries about sounding desperate, then he realizes in horror that he’s used the word “arse” in a conversation with Draco in _reference_ to Draco— which is mortifying and hits far too close to dangerous topics. But by the time Harry’s decided to burn the message and never think that sentence again, his shin is already smacking into the coffee table. His thumb misses delete and hits send with stomach-dropping finality. 

_Fuck_ , Harry thinks. He lunges towards the door as if that will somehow delete the message, then he stops to stare at it on his phone for a moment. He’s overreacting. 

Except then the typing bubble pops up. And disappears. And pops up again. Hovers.

Disappears again. Fuck. 

Harry stands still hoping for the floor to swallow him up already. He’s ruined it, he knows he has, and he’s not even surprised about that— he’s surprised he got this far, to be honest. Draco is witty and fit and seems to have a good job and excellent taste. He’s eye-catchingly beautiful and honestly far out of Harry’s league. He even likes Star Wars, for Christ’s sake. 

Harry’s just getting on a roll with his embarrassed self-loathing when there’s a knock on his door. He sighs and prepares himself for some form of chewing out before he opens it. 

It’s Draco, of course, but a startled laugh bubbles out of Harry before he can stop it. In one hand he’s clutching a plate with a monstrous amount of sugar cookies piled on it and with the other he’s struggling to hold onto an equally massive and complaining calico.

“You brought Pea,” Harry says, dumbfounded. 

“Well, you did ask me to,” Draco says smartly, but he bites his lip all the same. “I mean, I can put him back—"

“Don’t you dare.” Harry’s grinning, he knows he is. He snatches a cookie from the top of the tower before becoming Draco in. “Make yourself at home.”

“Did you clean?” Draco asks suddenly.

“Er,” Harry’s just taken a bite and he stops with half the cookie in his mouth. He swallows and looks around. “...no? I’m a neat person.”

“You cleaned. It smells like you’ve vacuumed in here.”

“What does that even mean?” Harry mutters petulantly. Draco rolls his eyes and sets the cookies down on the coffee table, but the corner of his mouth is turned up in just a hint of a smile, so Harry takes it as a win. Pea is placed in Harry’s usual spot on the couch, but Harry hardly even notices. The cat is too cute for argument and Draco’s arse as he bends over is simply—

“Delicious,” Harry sighs.

“What?” Draco glances back at him. 

“Your cookies,” Harry says quickly. “They’re amazing, seriously. You’ve got a gift.”

“Oh, thank you.” Draco looks genuinely pleased at that. “It’s an online recipe, I can send it to you later.”

“Or you can make me more. I’m rubbish at baking.”

“Or I can do that.” They grin at one another for a moment. “Right, where’s your remote? I’ll log on to Disney for you.”

“Er, coffee table? Or behind the TV. Check the mantle if it isn’t there.” Draco laughs and goes to dig for it. Harry leaves him to it and goes to get napkins, because the cookies are indeed amazing but also crumbly as hell. “Do you want anything to drink?” He calls from the kitchen as an afterthought.

“What do you— aha! Behind the TV,” Draco says triumphantly. “What do you have?”

“Juice, beer, or water, I think.”

“You wouldn’t happen to have wine, would you?”

Harry pokes his head back into the living room to give Draco a disbelieving look. “Wine is crying juice.”

“You take that back,” Draco gasps. “Wine is an _experience_.”

“A painful one.”

“I bet you drink that grape juice they sell in Tesco, that’s why.” 

He’s not wrong and it must show on Harry’s face. 

“Look, I’ll get some from my flat, give me two seconds,” Draco offers. “And I promise you’ll like it.”

Harry would protest, but wine sounds suspiciously date-like and he’s one hundred percent on board with that. He doubts Draco means it that way but it’s not going to stop him from enjoying the experience while he can.

Harry finds Disney+ on his TV while he waits and opens the login window. He still can’t believe Draco has an account. He looks like he either works in Canary Wharf or for Runway magazine, even though he can hardly be older than Harry. 

“Miss me?” 

Harry startles. Draco’s brought glasses and a wine opener for them, and he sets both on the table before sitting primly on the couch. 

“It’s Riesling,” he explains to Harry, even though Harry has no idea what Riesling is. “You’ll like it. Everyone does. Remote please?” Harry hands it to him and sits down. Pea promptly trots over to sink onto his lap.

“Your cat is literally a hot water bottle,” he says in delight. Draco purses his lips and gives Pea a short glare that Harry hopes never to see directed at himself. 

“I’m glad you like him.” 

Harry isn’t sure what Pea has done to warrant the icy tone, but he’s distracted from figuring it out by the show Draco’s pulled up on the TV. 

“Mandalorian, right?” Draco says. There’s just a hint of insecurity in his tone, and it’s fucking adorable honestly. He’s such a dork. Harry’s absolutely lucked out. “How many episodes do you want to watch?”

“How many are there?”

“Only eight.”

“Well all of them then,” Harry says it like it’s obvious. “We’ll order takeout or something if it gets late.”

Draco doesn’t respond, but his cheeks slowly darken and Harry thinks his heart might actually stop. Forget coronavirus, he’s getting taken out by a blond with a fat cat. What a way to go. 

Harry’s fully intent on edging a bit closer, sliding his arm behind Draco, the whole deal, but then the show starts and his dignity goes out the window. Because he’s unfortunately just as much a dork as Draco, it would seem. So much for being suave. 

* * *

Draco opens the wine halfway through episode two, and Harry does like it, because Draco has excellent taste in wine. After two glasses Harry gets hilariously intense about the whole show and starts commenting on everyone’s outfits, and Draco has to work to stop himself from laughing. Pea has made a permanent home on Harry’s lap, the bastard, but Draco’s been doing his fair share of sliding and he thinks just another shift might have him almost touching Harry. It’s all very distracting, really. He’s barely even been paying attention, and he loves this show. He feels like a complete tit and yet he isn’t even trying to stop.

They pause at episode four to order Indian, then promptly remember that everything is closed and have to settle for instant ramen. The wine is gone by then so Harry pours them both pineapple juice. Draco’s pretty sure that if this were a date— _if_ it were— then by all traditional standards it would qualify as a disaster. They’re adults, dammit. 

It’s not a date, though. He’s pretty sure. He’d like it to be— love it to be, wishes it to be, would readily agree for it to be— but Harry’s hot and his age and lives across the hall, and the odds of him being single and remotely interested on top of that are depressingly low. Draco doesn’t have that kind of luck. He’s aware that he’s not unattractive, but he’s been told he has too much of a resting bitch face. In a bout of insecurity he’d once asked Theo whether he’d ever hit on Draco if they didn’t know one another. Theo’s answer was along the lines of “I’d notice you but you’d scare the shit out of me, so no.”

Harry doesn’t seem to agree with the scary part, though. He smiles at Draco’s comments often enough that Draco’s actually starting to believe he’s somewhat funny. There’s not a lot of room for conversation with the TV on, but where Draco usually watches expressionlessly, Harry’s face is completely uncontrolled and the only way he can describe it is beautiful. Cliché, but what can one do? Draco’s hooked, watching every reaction, clinging to the way Harry bites his lip and his forehead crinkles in concern every time someone on screen is in danger. Draco has completely stopped watching for the last ten minutes, so he wouldn’t know who’s fighting now.

Harry pauses for a few minutes to go to the loo, and Draco is mortified by the fact that he actually doesn’t notice what’s happening until Harry stands. Pea is deposited in his hands and Draco patiently pets him while he waits for Harry. Pea bites him. Draco flicks his nose.

“So what else have you been doing other than baking?” Harry says when he comes back. “My mum’s hung this horrid cross-stitch in my bathroom because she thinks that’s an appropriate quarantine hobby and I just want to make sure you’re safe from the horror of bunnies with top hats.”

“That’s sweet and a completely appropriate hobby, I’ll have you know,” Draco says. Harry just snorts and takes Pea back. “I’ve been playing games, but that’s not much to talk about.” He’s never mentioning his Switch in public again. Theo already figuratively crucified him for calling Zelda ‘peak gaming.’ Granted, he should have been more careful with the praise. 

“For real?” Harry’s grinning. Why’s he grinning? “I played six hours of Animal Crossing yesterday! Have you got that?”

“You— you play Switch?”

“Yes, obviously. It’s quarantine, who doesn’t?” Sane people, that’s the answer. “Listen, what fruit do you have? Or— sorry, you probably don’t play AC, it’s kind of a childish game. Sorry.

He’s not allowed to be so cute, dammit, or Draco’s going to the hospital for cardiac arrest. 

“I do play,” he admits. “I’ve got pears on my island. I can text you my friend code and… you can come over? If you’d like, that is.”

“I’d love to,” Harry looks far too happy just for pears. “I’ll bring you some oranges.”

Draco’s been ready to kill to get oranges. Harry’s so close, the warmth of him seeping into Draco’s side, his lips smooth and full and talking about oranges. No one wants to talk to him about Animal Crossing, no one, and Harry’s sitting there with dimples and glasses and _oranges_. He could kiss Harry. 

He does. 

Well, fuck.

It turns out to be quite awkward to kiss someone when they don’t kiss back. It’s dry and still and Draco kind of hates himself but he’s also really fucking excited because he did it, he _kissed_ _Harry_ , and now he knows just what it feels like to have that mouth pressed against his own. He’s sure it will all turn sad and painful and embarrassing when one of them finally pulls away, but for now he’s just _happy_. It’s brilliant. Not that sexy, but brilliant. 

But then Harry sucks in a short breath, and his lips part, and he’s kissing Draco back. Warm hands come up to cup Draco’s cheeks and _this_ is brilliant. They part and come back again, and Harry sips at Draco’s mouth like there’s nothing he’d rather taste, and Draco can’t stop shivering. 

When they finally part for real it takes them a few tries. Draco settles for resting their heads together, close enough that Harry is free to continue dipping in and pressing short kisses against Draco’s lips that set his heart fluttering. 

“So,” Harry says. Kiss. “I feel like— we’re on the same page that—” Draco licks between Harry’s lips at that point, which is his fault entirely, he knows, but he really can’t help it. He’s floating on something otherworldly, and he hasn’t crashed into the reality of ‘Harry’s not _really_ interested’ yet. It’s an intoxicating feeling. 

“Finish your sentence,” Draco finally says.

“I was trying,” Harry says against the corner of his mouth. “We’re on the same page that this is somewhat, sort of, in some manner a date?”

There’s that reality Draco’s been waiting for. But it’s not exactly what he’d been expecting, because this rather sounds like Harry _is_ interested. Which is utterly implausible. He pulls back to look Harry squarely in the eyes. 

“A date?”

“Yeah,” Harry frowns. “No? I thought we were on that page.”

“I may have been thinking I was sitting on the page alone.” Draco admits. 

“Oh. What? No. Really?”

“You’re— you’re on the page too?”

“Draco, I like you,” Harry says. Draco’s cheeks are absolutely burning. He thinks he could dance. He’s terrible at dancing. “Like, _like_ you like you. I’d like this to be a date.”

Draco has to swallow. “That would be acceptable. I mean, I like you too.”

“I gathered. You did kiss me.”

Draco sputters, but Harry just grins and kisses him again, so he doesn’t dwell on the embarrassment for long. There are more important things to worry about.

Like oranges. 

**Author's Note:**

> And they lived happily ever after. As usual, comments and kudos brighten my day :)


End file.
